Dark Pasts and Strange Dreams
by erinmorgan
Summary: For the first time in a long time, Merlin has a prophecy instead of a nightmare. Before he can decipher exactly what it means, he finds it coming true and faces his king again for the first time in countless centuries.
1. Old Friends

**AN:** _I had so much fun writing this. I'm really proud of it! I hope you like it!_

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"Help me! Please, help me!"

Merlin froze at attention and stood prepared for anything. As he glanced around the familiar forest, the tall, dark trees in the compact grove seemed to form an unbreakable wall and to block out all light. Acting on instinct, his right hand went to the hilt of the sword in his belt while his left rose to shoulder height, ready to summon magic. The feeble cry came again, and Merlin's stomach did a small flip in recognition. He moved toward the voice, grip tightening around his sword, magic building and crackling between his fingertips.

As he walked, the call became farther and farther away. He turned around unsure, but then continued in the same direction. It felt like he was walking for hours. All the while, the call became more and more distressed. His discomfort and fear mounting, Merlin's pace quickened. The next time he heard the call, it was loud, near, and incredibly desperate. Merlin broke into a run, fighting to find the edge of the forest. When the trees finally broke, he stumbled onto a beach – the beach he most hated. In the distance, against the backdrop of gray water, endless mist, and a mysterious far-off island, he could see two figures: one tall and masculine, the other short and feminine; neither seemed distressed. Cautious now, Merlin approached them with sinking dread. He knew who the figures were, but refused to believe it. Still yards away, Merlin felt the tears welling in his eyes.

"No," he choked.

"It's alright, Merlin," Arthur said, turning to him. "Freya has helped me. I understand now."

His king was standing beside Merlin's one love with a perfectly calm, almost happy expression. He was wearing his riding breeches, loose blue shirt, and leather jacket. Merlin almost thought he was just the carefree prince he had once been, taking a walk along the shore. But that couldn't be right. Arthur knew nothing of the Lake of Avalon, and he had not been a prince, much less carefree, for a long time. Freya, too, looked peaceful. She was dressed in a simple blue gown with her hair gently tugged away from her face. To Merlin she was as beautiful as ever. She never said anything, but she didn't have to; to him, her countenance spoke volumes.

Arthur continued, "I understand now. I must go, must rest. As must you, Merlin. For you will not be alone for long. Soon, our time will come again."

He finished, and the two slowly walked back into the water, hand-in-hand. Merlin shouted, then cried, for them to come back, but neither turned or even missed a step. The water slowly submersed them as they walked farther until Merlin could no longer see them, only the placid waves and the horizon. He let out a strangled cry and collapsed onto the sand. He felt pangs of loneliness once more, accompanied by pain and resignation. He was also surprised to feel jealousy, though what he was jealous of he was not sure – that Arthur was holding hands with his love, the woman he only knew for two days and was cruelly separated from, or that Freya was spending time with his king, his one true friend who was taken from him much too soon.

Whatever the cause, the feelings were too much to bear. He dragged himself into the water, with the intentions of following Arthur and staying with Freya. If he couldn't be with them again, he did not want to leave the water. His new intention was to keep his head below the surface and not to breathe deeply before going under. But before the sting of drowning settled in, strong talons grasped him around the stomach and heaved him into the air.

From above him, he heard Kilgharrah, the Great Dragon, say, "Now is not your time, Merlin. Leave him be; for it was his. He will return soon, but not until his kingdom needs him once more."


	2. Catching Up

**AN:** _This is really long, but I don't know how to break it up nor do I really want to. So, yeah. I hope I don't bore you with it all..._

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Merlin woke with a start. He scrambled to sit up and kick the bedclothes away. He was sweating and panting, and his face was stiff with dried tears. Merlin rubbed his eyes and ruffled his hair. He wiped his mouth and drew his knees to his chest. No matter how old he became, he always curled into the same young, scared position.

For a long time, he sat on his bed, protectively hugging his knees to his chest and staring at the wall across from him. Scenes of his life from long ago danced across the red-painted wall. He saw himself polishing armor, washing clothes, gathering herbs, crushing and mixing poultices. He bowed to Uther, held a sobbing Morgana, comforted a heart-broken Gwen, laughed with Gaius, and… and parried with a young, grinning Arthur.

Merlin squeezed his eyes shut against the images and forced them from his mind. He could not, however, ignore the most heartbreaking of them all. Every day of his incredibly long life, Merlin relived that horrible scene and every day he cried fresh tears. He not only saw himself half-carrying, half-dragging his king through the trees, he felt it. He felt Arthur's weight pressing against his side and Arthur's hot, heavy breaths against his ear and neck. He shouted for Kilgharrah and despairingly clutched Arthur during the flight. There were no thoughts in his mind as Arthur died in his arms, only feelings – helplessness, loneliness, and, most prominent, failure.

Merlin shoved the heels of his palms into his temples, squeezing the memories out of his mind, weeping uncontrollably. Even as a three-thousand-five-hundred-forty-seven-year-old man, he could not think of his boyhood without breaking down. Eventually, he forced himself out of bed and into the shower. Throughout his morning routine, he worked to rid his mind of all emotions and to analyze his vision. After all these years of painful waiting, Arthur would return "soon"? Well, soon could mean anything! It could be another millennium, century, decade, or second. His king could be standing on Merlin's front step right now.

Merlin snorted at the thought. Destiny would never make it that easy. No, he was going to have to wait much longer and search much harder for Arthur than that.

With a sigh, Merlin glanced in a mirror to check his appearance. Apparently, he struck high resemblance with the "Irishmen" and "Scots," which most assumed he was. There was no point in correcting them and announcing that he was Ealdorian since no one knew what Ealdor was. Although he was three-thousand-five-hundred-forty-seven, he looked eighty and a very good eighty for the time. His hair was still thick, though white and lengthening. His blue eyes were losing their brightness but gaining depth. His skin was still smooth, though extremely wrinkled, especially his rough forehead. His frame was slightly taller than average but not lanky or awkward. People constantly complimented him, especially women. Still, Merlin thought with a small laugh, he was no suggestive Sir Gwaine.

He kept to himself and was very quiet. Locals gossiped about him, calling him a sage and a miracle. Most of them respected him as an elder and understood that he was much older than he seemed. The others simply believed he was mad. Merlin could not imagine how they would react to his true self, the sage and the warlock. They would probably run screaming if they didn't lock him up first. The price for magic now was much worse than it had been in Uther's day. Uther simply imprisoned, starved, hanged, and chopped off the heads of sorcerers. Now, as Merlin knew first-hand, sorcerers were tortured.

He had been careless once, the better half of a century ago. Overwhelmed with nostalgia, he had gone into the woods, hunted a stag, and prepared it as a meal the way his mother had so skillfully taught him. He also could not resist performing a simple spell and creating shapes within the smoke of his fire. Men came, shot at him, caged him, electrocuted him, prodded him, and more. The men wanted to use him as a weapon of war against a man named Hitler who apparently had some sort of magic of his own. To his old and almost inexperienced body, it had felt worse than torture by Morgana, yet Merlin could only laugh at it. While they taunted him, he only heard his beloved Gaius reprimanding him for his foolishness and Alator commanding him to separate his mind from his body so not to feel the pain. Merlin knew they couldn't kill him anyway, though his refusal to cooperate encouraged them to try. At this time, Merlin hadn't cared that the world was locked in war – he hadn't even been aware of the global war – he was locked in his own war.

Those years of torture had been a release for Merlin from that war. Someone else trying to kill him was a nice change from himself trying to kill him. Though they imprisoned him constantly, no one had tried to kill him since Morgana and Mordred. After Merlin had defeated them, everyone was afraid of his power and didn't dare to cross him. However, he could not live with his guilt and his failure. He wanted to rid himself of his powers. Innumerable times, he had tried to drown himself in the waters of Avalon, fall on his sword, or incite a rock fall. But these attempts only succeeded in drawing attention to himself. Nothing worked otherwise, and he was forced to live on through the centuries alone. Eventually, he stopped trying and accepted his fate. He was forced to accept his immortality. Then, the only thing which kept him going was the hope of his king's return.

Now, Merlin blinked to clear his head and gathered his things into his well-worn leather satchel to walk into town. His home was a small dilapidated thing, according to the locals, on the beach he hated so much. They did not understand that it was not a broken down shack, but a proper wooden cottage from his time, from Camelot. Several yards back from the water, on the edge of the small strip of remaining forest, it was the most Merlin could do to keep his real home alive. While the world evolved around him, he fought to keep his shore, cottage, and forest perfectly unchanged.

Today, he was only walking into town for exercise and to gather some news. He would sit on a park bench, play chess, and listen to the news and the gossip. He earned the little money he needed as a storyteller in the library. His stories mostly included the true recounts of his adventures with Arthur and the knights. He described ancient beasts such as the wildren and sang the songs his mother taught him. Of course, the locals knew about Merlin and Arthur. The whole world knew about Merlin and Arthur! Merlin had made sure that his king's memory lived on even after Camelot's didn't. He never, not even in his younger days, sought credit or recognition or appreciation for his role. He always made Arthur the outstanding character, but through the ages, the audiences began to love Merlin for just that, his quiet and undemanding demeanor. At times, Merlin was loved more than Arthur, and at others, Arthur more than Merlin. Yet the real Merlin did not care, so long as the memories lived on. He couldn't deny, of course, laughing at the people's praise of him where Arthur had been so clueless.

The old man also gave advice to the young couples, the parents, and the heartbroken. Many a person even traveled to his cottage to talk. Merlin could not say that he enjoyed the visitors but the occasional company intrigued him. After thousands of years of being a hermit, having a place in society was somewhat heartwarming for the old man. Not that he could reciprocate or was expected to. When he needed such a chat himself, he spoke to the small clay figurine of a dragon given to him by his father, Balinor, all those years ago. Sometimes, he imagined the voices of Balinor and Gaius counseling him, but, of course, they never actually did. Every now and then, he even imagined a riddle that Kilgharrah would have offered.

Merlin returned home at twilight, having stayed out longer than usual. During his afternoon of chess, the younger men of the town had spoken of strange things, catching his attention. As he stood before his cottage now, he pondered them and drank from the old water skin he always carried with him.

"Hello?"

Merlin calmly swallowed and turned around. His mind reeling, he tried to convince himself that it was only a local calling for advice.

"Hello?" the call was obviously upset. Perhaps it was a pressing problem.

Merlin was sure that it was coming from the water, but he did not want to believe it. He stepped away from his door, hoping the person was in the woods.

"Anyone? Please help me!" The call became a plea. An extremely pressing problem then.

Merlin concentrated his power and searched for the source. Miles away, staggering onto the shore, was a man dressed in leathers and an unreasonably long red cloak and sopping wet as if he had swum a great distance. Coming back to himself, Merlin was paralyzed. It couldn't be. It really couldn't.

Destiny would never make it that easy!

"Help me, someone!" the terrified voice cried.

It broke Merlin's trance and propelled him through the sand. Soon, Merlin was doing something he thought he would never do again – running, laughing, and shouting, "Arthur!"

As he ran, he never tired. Though his king was many miles away, Merlin halved the distance quickly. With each step, he felt himself grow younger. He shed his days with each breath he heaved. He skidded to a stop when Arthur came into view and stared at the handsome man in his soaked hunting garb. Curious, he glanced down at himself as well and saw dexterous hands, loose breeches, tall buckle-boots, and his trademark red scarf. When he raised his head again, Arthur's gaze locked on his. With barely a pause, the two men were charging for each other and slamming into a tight embrace. Laughing with genuine joy, they stepped back to take each other in once again, still hardly believing who they saw standing before their eyes.

"Merlin!" Arthur exclaimed. "You haven't changed at all!"

"My king," Merlin said, voice thick, genuflecting and dipping his head low.

"Oh, get up," Arthur complained, yet with a grin.

Merlin stood and gripped Arthur's shoulders tightly, possessively. One arm stayed across Arthur's shoulders as he led him to the cottage. On the way, he inquired as to Arthur's health and memory.

"Well," Arthur began, his grin fading, "I remember everything and everyone: Uther, Morgana, Mordred, my knights, my kingdom… my death." He cleared his throat. "I died… in your arms… on this very sand. You're a sorcerer. You killed my sister. I killed Mordred… Good gods, Merlin… did I lead a death parade? Did anyone survive?"

"No," Merlin answered shortly.

"Then –"

"Tell me what happened to you. I will tell my story after. I've become quite the griot. You wouldn't want to spoil it now by hearing your own blabbering after would you?" Arthur narrowed his eyes in making the decision not to answer with a reprimand or a retort, and Merlin happily noted the unchanged habit.

"Very well," Arthur consented with gruff resignation. "Nothing happened to me really. I died, and the world went black. It felt like a very… peaceful sleep. After a while, I woke up on an island, from which I could see you on the shore across the water. Freya found me there. She helped me to understand what was going on. After a while on the island, I woke up. I was… floating in the water on a burned tyre boat. Merlin, why on earth would you send me off in that disgusting thing?"

"Arthur, I thought you understood?" Merlin stopped walking. Arthur's last comment provoked concern, and Merlin turned to face Arthur as he asked, "What did Freya tell you?"

"That I am the 'once and future king,' and I will 'rise again' when the world needs me. Not that I really get that – I mean, it's not much a future, is it? It couldn't have been more than half a year. And don't avoid the question, Mer-lin! Why would you send your king off in a horrible boat like that?"

"It wasn't horrible when I carved it myself with magic from the best tree of the realm," Merlin said shortly. Arthur pulled a puzzled face, and Merlin continued. "The boat withered over time, Arthur. It has been a long time since your death."

"How long?" Arthur asked, furrowing his brow.

Merlin paused. "Very long," he stressed.

"How long?" Arthur asked again with more force.

With a sigh, Merlin looked into the distance for a moment. Then, he answered, "Three thousand, five hundred, twelve years."

Arthur stood speechless and stared at his old friend, now noticing how old he actually was. Though he had reverted to his old self when he first found Arthur, he was slowly changing back. Suddenly, Merlin had wrinkles and white hair. He was wearing different boots, strange breeches, and the stiffest cloak Arthur had ever seen. Seeing Arthur's apprehension, Merlin looked down at himself again and smiled sadly.

"Come," Merlin said, tugging Arthur's shoulder again, "let's get back before we talk more."

He led Arthur the rest of the way in silence. Merlin trudged through the sand, and Arthur followed behind. He had half a mind to make sure Merlin didn't hurt himself, fall, or trip. Arthur felt incredibly young and uncomfortable with this elderly Merlin. The two men were supposed to be the same age. If Arthur was still youthful, why wasn't Merlin? Because it had been three thousand and… some-odd years? Did that mean Arthur was as old as Merlin? He didn't look it, and he certainly didn't feel it.

They arrived at a cottage, and Arthur sighed in relief at the familiar sight. Merlin unlocked the door and led him within the poorly lit main room. He couldn't see in the cottage very well, so he simply waited for Merlin to say something. When he looked toward Merlin again, the young Merlin he knew was standing with him. Startled, Arthur jumped back with a shout. Merlin took a step toward him with arms raised peacefully, but Arthur continued to back away until he found himself with his back against the wall. This position, of course, was not the most comforting either.

As he watched Merlin, Arthur realized his eyes were adjusted to the darkness. He began to notice all of the other changes around him and felt them closing in on him. There were new bird calls and an odd smell in the air. A strange, small animal was sitting on the nearest sill. Huge, white, sharp, branching bone-like things sat on a table beside small, pointed, intricately carved things. The leaves of the trees outside were intruding upon the room through the window, blocking the moonlight and casting the eerie shadow. Those trees, Arthur thought, were much too small; they were, by no way, as tall as they should be.

The short trees were pressing Arthur against the ground. The comfortable cottage was suddenly too small and growing ever smaller. What had begun as a simple glance around was now giving Arthur whiplash. He was fully alert, trying to watch everything all at once. Instinctively, his hand slipped to his waist and grabbed for Excalibur. When it didn't find the sword, Arthur looked down and cursed under his breath. His eyes darted back up again and landed on Merlin's face. It was wiped free of emotion but watching him intently.

"I'm sorry," young-faced Merlin said calmly. "I thought you'd be more comfortable with the familiar." His voice still held that light quality Arthur remembered but not the foolish tone which always characterized it.

"I am," Arthur stammered unconvincingly. "Don't change. Again. Please."

"I won't. I'm sorry," Merlin said. "Please, sit down."

He moved aside to let Arthur pass, but Arthur still stood against the wall. Now that his battle senses had returned to him, he assessed the room and decided this position was best after all. It would be easiest to defend and quickest to desert. Part of him was trying to convince to rest of him that Merlin was his friend, that nothing would happen, that Merlin was safe and would keep him safe if anything did happen, but his battle instincts were too strong. Merlin recognized this and sighed, allowing the smallest count of emotion to flick across his face. He turned to sit, and then looked back at Arthur. His eyes held an expression somewhere between hope and sorrow, but Arthur could not decide which was stronger.

"You can sit whenever you feel comfortable," Merlin said. There was another quiet pause. Arthur moved only to flinch at another outlandish noise outside. Merlin watched him with those eyes, and continued, "You did not lead a death parade. Leon and Percival survived the battle. Gaius remained court physician for another decade. Gwen lived a long life and passed the throne to her son after a century."

Arthur whispered, "Guinevere," and stared at his feet. Merlin gave him a moment, waiting for the question. "Her son…?" Arthur said, still softly.

Merlin smiled, "And yours."

"Mine?" Arthur asked. He staggered and had to lean on the wall.

"She gave birth a few months after the battle and named him Asher."

"That's why she followed me into battle. She came to be sure I was safe… because she was… I abandoned my wife and my son?" Arthur gave a wry laugh and added, "I was so determined to give my son a better upbringing than I had, yet I left him to be raised without a father as I was raised without a mother."

Merlin sighed heavily. He should've known Arthur would see the depressing side to the news rather than the joyful. "Arthur, you did not abandon them. You died. That is not your fault," he stated firmly.

As he stared into Arthur's eyes, brimming with sadness and some hidden hope, Merlin recalled how battle worn and hard Arthur had become. Merlin had known several Arthurs throughout the years, but he had spent eternity imagining the light-hearted Arthur he had first known. That Arthur had been a selfish, childish prince, a "clotpole." The next was Merlin's favorite, the somewhat intelligent yet completely ignorant "dollophead." Then came the angry, lost, betrayed king who Merlin remembered as a regular basin of laughs. That Arthur had lasted the longest until just before his death, when, finally, he was enlightened and accepting.

"Please, Merlin. What happened to my knights? How did my son rule? Did Camelot maintain peace?" Arthur listed his questions as slowly as he raised his head. "I left everything in shambles for my people! What are you smiling at?"

Merlin came out of his reverie and blinked to clear his visage. Arthur had resumed his position against the door. His king was looking down at Merlin with guarded eyes now, but Merlin could still see the sadness and the slight hope, even deeper, the anger and fear. These expressions were no surprise; Merlin expected them. After everything Arthur had been through, he definitely had reason to be feeling anything. His mind had to be warped by anxiety coupled with perplexity. Merlin knew the feeling; he had been there three thousand years ago.

Merlin continued to smile and hold Arthur's gaze. "I am reflecting upon old times."

"Could you please share with me these old times?" Arthur's voice was strained.

"Where should I start?"

"With Camelot."

"Well…" Merlin considered how to begin. "It lived in peace. It saw a golden age. Asher completed Albion. He never led attacks and never lost a battle. The people loved Asher and most of his descendants. Of course, there were some here and there who could not connect with the people, but they were all excellent men, none corrupt."

"How did Camelot come to an end?"

"The times changed and the people with them. The world moved past swords and knights and toward guns and machines. Kingdoms remained for a long time, until no leader was without corruption. The people rebelled all across the world and built nations instead. They went through several stages of government then. Many wars were fought until peace finally reigned once more. Now, we're here, in a world so tempered by war that it is afraid of peace."

Arthur watched Merlin with a blank expression. He understood nothing his friend described. The only thing he comprehended was that Camelot was gone – his world was utterly gone, and he had much to adjust to. Suddenly, the walls were closing in again. He was being compressed and had no air to breathe. His visage became spotted and his head swam. Arthur felt like there would be no way for him to keep track of the world anymore.

And he had never been more scared.

Merlin took in Arthur's face, but under-interpreted it. He chuckled kindly, "Do you desire a better explanation?"

"No, no," Arthur said quickly, brushing the topic away with a wave of his hand and shaking his head to clear it. He needed the walls to stop moving. He needed to go back to something safe: "How did Gwen and Asher fair?"

"Extremely well," Merlin paused to smile, and Arthur actually returned it with a hesitant grin. "Guinevere seemed happy for the rest of her life. She never forgot you, of course, and never fancied another man. Gaius made sure she never allowed herself to be hurt by the stress of ruling. She remained queen for all her life, but passed the throne to Asher on his twenty-first birthday. Of course, she remained informed and occasionally overruled her son, but Asher took over easily and ruled well. Gwen died of old age and Asher soon after. He didn't die in battle, nor was he mortally stabbed. His wounds and his grief simply caught up with him.

"In his prime, you must know, he was very much like you. As a boy he was arrogant and foolish. As the prince, he became aware and compassionate. As king, he valued nothing more than his mother, his men, and his people. I saw him carry himself as you did. I watched him defend his men as well as he could. He even foolishly danced in front of the sword for men as you always would."

Arthur could not prevent the smile from warming his face for a moment as he thought of the many times Merlin whined about his sense of honor and value. Merlin saw his smile, guessed his thoughts, and grinned widely. Finally, his king was smiling again.

"I trust you watched over him and taught him as you taught me?" Merlin shifted in his seat. "You did, didn't you?" Merlin breathed heavily and looked at the ground. Arthur asked again, "Where were you during these events, Merlin?"

Finally, he answered, "I – I had difficulty returning to Camelot after what… what happened on the shore."

Arthur looked at the ground slightly ashamed. He hadn't given one thought to the pain Merlin must have gone through. "I'm so sorry, Merlin."

"Don't be," Merlin scolded immediately. "Death was not your fault," he repeated. "It was your destiny to die for Camelot. I was clinging to foolish hope of rewriting prophesy. I shouldn't have dragged you to the shore in the first place and made you suffer those two days."

"Merlin..." Arthur sighed with a lesson in his voice.

"No, Arthur. I will not blame myself for your death, but I will blame myself for your suffering," he stated. Then, he smoothly continued as if the comments had never been passed. "I needed a week before I was able to return. Even when I did, it was not the same. Gwen immediately freed me of my servitude and named me the royal sorcerer. She then, erm, edited the laws, particularly those of magic. She eased them and erased death as the ultimate penalty. She decreed a strict definition of good magic and adhered to it by jailing or killing those who disobeyed.

"After Gaius passed, I became more distant than I already was. By the time Gwen passed, everyone realized that I wasn't aging properly, and I closed myself off completely. I continued to visit Asher and his son, but for the most part, I left Camelot in the good hands of my apprentice. As the years passed, I kept my distance from Camelot. I became but a legend. As the world moved on, I was forgotten. I can't say I didn't prefer it. I lived with Kilgharrah and Aithusa for a time, until they left me as well. After many, many years of wandering the forest, I found my way back to this shore and built a home."

"Kilgharrah and Aithusa?" Arthur asked after a moment. He wanted to ask so many other questions but decided to start small.

"The dragons," Merlin explained with surprise. "I thought you knew them?" Arthur's face said otherwise, so Merlin supplied, "Kilgarah was my good friend and your father's good enemy. Uther had him chained in a cave beneath the dungeon during the Purge. He always counseled me and told me the riddles of our destiny. He was an excellent friend once he'd had some time outside of Camelot." Merlin chuckled as he reminisced, "I told you that you had slain him when he attacked the castle after I first released him." Arthur looked anything but pleased, so Merlin went on, "I hatched Aithusa from the egg you went on a quest to find. However, I could not track her, and I lost her. She became the pet of Morgana, the poor thing. After Morgana's demise, I sent Kilgarah to find her and care for her."

"You hatched her? You sent him? How can you have such control over dragons?" Arthur scoffed.

"I am the last," Merlin stopped. "Well, there's no point in saying last now, is there? I'm the last everything now. I'm a dragonlord. The lord of dragons. I speak with them. I direct them. They do not have to listen to me, really, unless I order them as a dragonlord… Still, it was a title which demands respect from all species."

Arthur was stunned into silence again. He thought he had found out all there was to know about his old friend those last two nights in the forest. He was quickly finding out, among many other things, that he was dreadfully wrong.

"So you abandoned Camelot?" Arthur asked darkly, though accusation was not his intent.

"I did not abandon Camelot!" Merlin suddenly jumped from his seat, all steadiness, sympathy, and serenity gone. Arthur was shocked and terrified at his reaction. The old man took a very long, deep breath, and resumed his seat, but Arthur could still see him bristling.

"I did not abandon Camelot," Merlin repeated quieter. His next speech was a passionate whisper. "Everyone I knew was gone. Everything I loved died. There was nothing left for me. I tried to counsel the next two generations, but I was becoming outdated, an antique. I didn't even appear it!" he laughed wryly. "I looked younger than your great-great-great grandson ever did! Yet for all my knowledge, all my experience, all my counsel, all my peace, I was the subject of fear. No one understood me; no one knew me. I became 'the Merlin' – I was no long a person, I was a thing! Tell me how I could have remained there? Tell me, would you have?"

Arthur was stunned into silence. Merlin was suddenly hostile. His quiet familiarity was the one thing keeping Arthur calm, but now he was barely calm himself. Merlin was horrifying him now.

Arthur wanted to take back his questions. He no longer wanted to know anything of Merlin's experiences, but Merlin would not stop. He went on and on. He described to Arthur unspeakable things. He described living in the forest like a fugitive. He described being hunted like prey. He described getting trapped. He described being emasculated. He described being tortured and abused. He described unending sessions of imprisonment. He described being released into a foreign world. He described all of his missteps and all of their consequences.

But most of all, he described being alone. Arthur tried, but he could not match his own feelings to Merlin's. He had not been on his own for so long. He had not been in an unforgiving land. He had met Freya. Merlin spent a few years in peace after leaving Camelot, but the horrors began soon after. He withheld most names, but others he could not keep from sneering. Arthur wasn't sure if Merlin even knew all of the names. Merlin's stark imagery, made it all too easy for Arthur to perfectly see Merlin chained to walls in dark cells, going days without food or water, cowering beneath men with maces. The first stories Merlin told were of Cendred and other such men, who. They went after Merlin for the same old reasons: to get to Gwen, to draw out the knights, to hurt Camelot. Then, Merlin's stories grew different. The men were no longer known to Arthur, but they were so known to Merlin that he shuddered through his retellings. For various reasons, they captured him, and in various ways they discovered his magic. Some let him go from fear. Others tried to bend him to their will.

"I never worked for anyone," Merlin said darkly, "no matter what binding or dominance spells they cast on me. I fought them all."

Looking into Merlin's eyes now, Arthur could find no trace of the hope he had seen earlier. Even the sorrow was gone. Now, all Arthur could see was the pain and the anger. No, neither word was strong enough. All Arthur could see now was agony and wrath, underlined by madness. His beloved friend was suddenly a bitter old man, yet he hadn't changed his form this time. The years of intense suffering were painfully evident, and Arthur was obviously looking at Merlin for the first time without the façade of a seasoned old man.

Merlin glared at the ground, hypnotized and unseeing. Arthur was gone. The cottage was gone. The modern world was gone. Merlin was no longer talking to his king, he spitting at the floor of another cage. Just like this morning, he was watching a film of memories and emotions, but never, ever before had he allowed himself to watch this particular film. Completely immersed in the forceful influx, Merlin was unaware of Arthur shaking him, sitting beside him, and intoning his name. For the first time in an extremely long time, Merlin did not feel like an old man; he truly felt like that young boy who was first tortured by Morgana.

"Merlin, as your king I demand you snap out of this!" Arthur practically screamed. "Merlin!" He smacked Merlin in the back of the head for good measure, sharply jolting him back to the present. He resurfaced, still wrapped in his terror, and wildly flailed. Arthur deflected him easily, but was caught off-guard by the strength and precision of Merlin's attack. He overpowered Merlin and embraced him from behind to press his arms down safely and gently. With his head just behind Merlin's shoulder, Arthur breathed deeply, hoping Merlin would catch on to the rhythm, which he did, though it took time. When Merlin was calm once again, Arthur cautiously let go of him. Merlin did not fight. His breath was still ragged, but his eyes were closed, and Arthur could see the effort it was taking.

"Are you alright?" Arthur asked.

"Yeah…" Merlin replied. "Yes, I'm alright. I'm sorry. I don't know what –"

"Came over yourself?" Arthur finished. "I understand. It's fine."

"Thank you, Arthur."

"Don't mention it."

There was another pause, this one long.

"Arthur," Merlin began.

"Yes?"

Merlin turned to face him. "You can't call yourself king anymore."

Arthur blinked. "What?"

"You – you said," Merlin sighed. "You demanded as my king. You're not king anymore. You haven't been for a long time, and you won't be again. Times have changed," he emphasized.

Arthur breathed out a tense laugh. "Mer-lin, what are you prattling about? I think you need a good cup of ale." He hadn't realized what he said when he was shaking Merlin. The command had come out without thought. Arthur digested Merlin's warning and felt his feeble hope crash down once again. Royalty was all he knew. If he wasn't king anymore, what was he?

"Arthur, listen to me," Merlin tried again. "It is late now, but I will take you around town tomorrow to show you. You cannot possibly believe how different everything is just now, I understand, but you need to see."

"Merlin," Arthur tried to protest.

"Arthur," Merlin spoke over him.

Both stopped speaking. They watched each other, waiting for the other to speak first. Neither wanted to, but Arthur finally broke the ice.

"You are in no condition for more storytelling. I am in no condition for traipsing unwonted lands. Let us rest now. We each deserve, and seem to need, sleep, no?"

Merlin nodded. He stood, and Arthur promptly followed. Merlin led Arthur to his sleeping room and offered the bed. The room was quiet with no source of light other than a wick lamp on a stump beside the bed. There were no adornments on the walls, only a window and a clock. This was obviously the very back of the cottage as was the norm for such housing, and Arthur had to admit that he felt comfortable here where change was simply nominal.

"Arthur?" Merlin prompted. "Take the bed. I'll sleep outside."

Arthur was about to agree as Merlin walked out but suddenly called him back. "Wait, I cannot take your bed!"

"And why not?" Merlin asked.

"Because it is yours, obviously."

"So it is, but what is mine is also yours."

"But you need it."

"More than you?"

"You've had a trying day!"

"More so than yours?"

"Mer-lin, I cannot possibly allow an old man to sleep uncomfortably while I snore on a proper bed!"

Merlin's eyes widened, and Arthur balked. However, without hesitation, Merlin's face split into a smile, and he said, "So, you finally admit that you snore?"

Arthur's laugh was short and relieved. "Yes, I suppose I do. Look, can we at least share the bed?"

"Just like old times then, hm?" Merlin asked. "Banter, insults, and no apology?"

"I'm sorry?" Arthur said, meaning the apology but not sure if Merlin was honestly upset.

"You still sleep on the left?"


	3. Hope for the Future

**AN:** _I don't plan on continuing this, but if you ask nicely I might. I was going to, but I like it how it is now, and I really don't want to mess it up or start something I can't finish._

* * *

Merlin did not sleep that night. He lay in the bed beside his king, fully clothed, fully awake. Once he was certain that his king was asleep, he got up and left the room. For a short while, Merlin paced in the main room. His mind was whirring, but the movement kept him calm. Too tired to keep moving, he sat down again and held his head in his hands. He sniffled and took a deep ragged breath.

What was he to do?

He was not ready for Arthur's return. He was in a much better place than he had been last century, but he still was not ready! A wise old man he should be, but a broken young boy he still was. For the first time since Camelot, he was hesitantly taking part in society. The few decades he had spent at the edge of this town had greatly grounded him but not prepared him. He was happier than he had been in years, but Arthur's presence complicated everything. How was Merlin going to explain the man's random appearance? Would the two of them live in this tiny cottage? What would happen after Arthur's work was done? Would the two men finally get the rest they really deserved? Why was Arthur even here now for? Could it have anything to do with the news from town?

Merlin's mind came to a halt. No matter what happened, he knew things would be better now. Ready or not, his king was back. His Arthur was back. That was all he needed to face anything. With a deep breath and his first real smiles in centuries, Merlin crawled back into bed with Arthur as his young self and had a pleasant, dreamless sleep.


End file.
